The One and Only Ivan

Endless days pass, and then I notice something.

A change.

I don’t know what it is, but I taste it in the air, like faroff rain clouds gathering.

a new tv

Maya brings me a TV. It is bigger than my old one.

She turns it on. “I think you’re going to like this show,” she says, smiling.

I’m hoping for a romance, or maybe a Western.

But it’s a nature show, one without human voices or ads. It’s a show about gorillas being gorillas. I watch them eat and groom and play-fight. I even watch them sleep.

I wonder why Mack never put on this channel.

the family

Every day I watch the gorillas on the TV screen. It’s a small family and an odd one, just three females and a juvenile male, without a silverback to protect them.

They groom each other and eat and sleep, then groom each other some more. They are a contented group, placid and good-natured, although, like any family, they bicker from time to time.

excited

This morning, for some reason, there is no gorilla show on TV.

Maya and the other humans are excited. They chirp like birds at dawn.

“Today’s the day,” they say.

I’ve watched many humans watch me, but never have they looked so happy.

Maya goes to the wall of wooden slats.

She grins goofily.

She pulls a string.

what I see

Gorillas.

Three females and a juvenile male.

It’s the family I’ve been watching. But they’re not on a TV screen.

They’re on the other side of the glass, watching me watching them.

I see me.

Lots of me.

still there

I cover my eyes.

I look again.

They are still there.

watching

Every day, I watch them through my window, the way my visitors used to watch me.

See how they chase, groom? See how they play, sleep? See how they live?

They’re graceful the way Stella was, moving just enough, only as much as they need.

They stare at me, heads tilted, pointing and hooting, and I wonder: Are they as fascinated by me as I am by them?

she

Her hoots make my ears hurt.

I admire her intact canines from afar.

Her name is Kinyani.

She is faster than I am, spry and probably smarter, although I am twice her size and that, too, is important.

She is terrifying.

And beautiful, like a painting that moves.

door

Today the humans lead me to a door.

On the other side, Kinyani and the others wait for me.

I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a silverback.

I’m Ivan, just Ivan, only Ivan.

I decide it’s not a good day to socialize.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

wondering

All night I lie awake, wondering about Ruby.

Has she already walked through a door like the one I’m facing?

Was she as scared as I am? Scared the way she must have been that day she fell in the hole?

I think of Ruby’s endless curiosity, and of the questions she loved to ask. Have you ever danced with a tiger, Ivan? Will your fur turn blue? Why doesn’t that little boy have a tail?

If Ruby were here with me, she’d be asking: What’s on the other side of the door, Ivan?

Ruby would want to know, and she would have been through that door by now.

ready

“Want to try again, Ivan?” Maya asks. I think of Ruby, and I tell myself it’s time.

The door opens.

outside at last

Sky.

Grass.

Tree.

Ant.

Stick.

Bird.

Dirt.

Cloud.

Wind.

Flower.

Rock.

Rain.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

oops

I sniff, approach, strut a bit, but the others don’t welcome me. They have sharp teeth and loud voices.

Did I do something wrong?

Kinyani chases me. She throws a stick at me. She corners me.

I know that she’s testing me to see if I’m a true silverback, one who can protect her family.

I cower and hide my eyes.

Maya lets me back into my cage.

what it was like

I lie awake and try to remember what it was like, being a gorilla.

How did we move? How did we touch? How did we know who was boss?

I try to think past the babies and the motorbikes and the popcorn and the short pants.

I try to imagine Ivan as he might have been.

pretending

The juvenile male approaches. He’s eyeing my food hungrily.

I imagine a different Ivan, my father’s son.

I grumble and swat and swagger. I beat my chest till the whole world hears.

Kinyani watches, and so do the others.

I move toward the young upstart, and he retreats.

Almost as if he believes I’m the silverback I’m pretending to be.

nest

I’m making a nest on the ground. It isn’t a true jungle nest. The leaves are inferior and the sticks are brittle. They snap when I weave them into place.

The others watch, grunting their disapproval: too small, too flimsy, an ugly thing to see.

But when I climb into that leafy cradle, it’s like floating on treetop mist.

more tv

Maya wants me to go back to my glass cage. I can tell, because she is tempting me toward the door with a trail of tiny marshmallows.